


The Adventure of Colonel Warburton's Madness

by Altamont (a1tam0nt)



Series: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Apparent suicide, Autopsy, Case Fic, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Medical Procedures, POV John Watson, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:20:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a1tam0nt/pseuds/Altamont
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson are approached by Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, who brings an interesting case to him involving a colonel who apparently went mad in the middle of the night and subsequently killed himself. As the colonel had knowledge of important plans for defending England, Holmes must urgently discern if the death was suspicious, or just sheer mania, before important information falls into the enemy's hands.





	1. A Visit To the Strangers' Room

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Which is it today,’ I asked, ‘morphine or cocaine?’
> 
> He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-leather volume which he had opened.
> 
> ‘It is cocaine,’ he said, ‘a seven-per-cent solution. Would you like to try it?’
> 
> ~ Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes - the Sign of the Four.

It was on very few occasions that Sherlock Holmes ever got to visit or to see his older brother, Mycroft. For both Holmes brothers were often incredibly busy in their own lines of work.

 _Mycroft_ Holmes, the man who acts in a position of the British government that I am not, by any means, permitted to discuss; and _Sherlock_ Holmes, the man who acts in his capacity as the world's  only consulting detective, whose cases I have chronicled over these last several years.

I had not been in the 'Strangers' Room' or the Diogenes Club since the beginning of  _The Adventure of the Greek Interpreter_ , the small and luxurious visiting room that looked out onto Pall Mall, and the only room in the entirety of the club where any form of verbal communication is permitted. However, today, for reasons known only both Holmes brothers, we were visiting Mycroft in the Strangers' Room, by special invitation via telegram.

"Ah, good evening Sherlock. And good evening, Doctor Watson." said Mycroft, rising from his chair.

"Good evening, Mycroft."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes."

"Please, doctor, call me Mycroft." insisted the older Holmes, waving his wide, fat, flipper-like hand in a dismissive manner.

Before we could speak any further, Mycroft picked up a black cane with a golden handle and tip. There appeared to be something engraved on the side of it, such as a set of initials.

"Before we begin I thought I should ask you what you make of this, Sherlock." said Mycroft. "From the lost and found."

"Hmph." said Sherlock, with a shrug. "It's rather simple. This cane belongs to a rich man who was once poor."

"Yes, yes...?"

"And furthermore, Mycroft, he goes to visit his family in a rather poor area of London, which suggests that he has cut them from his life quite a number of years ago."

"How can you tell?" I asked

"Quite simple, Watson." said Sherlock "The tip of this cane is worn from where it has been on rough cobblestone and there are splashes from where it has been in muddy puddles. The higher class streets of London are often much cleaner. But they are old stains, and there's few new ones. Which suggests he rarely visits them as a habit."

"But how can you tell that he is now of better fortune?"

"That too is elementary, Mycroft. The handle at the top of the cane is gold and much newer. The tip is merely gold- _plated_ , as demonstrated by the scratches having worn through a number of areas of the top gold layer. Furthermore, seeing as it has been left in the lost and found, it shows that he is inclined to leave things behind him. So he has thought to have his initials,  **R.M.C**  engraved into them. But if he has cut off his family, then it is likely that C is an alias, and M is his real name.

"For if he were to need to properly identify it, he would need to show proof of ownership by official documents. He would be able to argue that M is his surname, or that he opted for a hyphenated double-surname."

"And his occupation?"

"Something that involves a large amount of typing, clearly. For there is a smudge of ink on the tip from his finger. Perhaps he was changing the ribbon in his typewriter before lost his cane. It's dark blue ink. Furthermore, I observe from the fingermark that remains that he has a particularly flat index finger, perhaps from repeated tapping. But what occupation involves repeated tapping? Why, a telegraph operator, of course!"

"Very good, Sherlock. Very good." said Mycroft, accepting the cane back from his younger brother. He said then to a waiter: "Raymond, please communicate with Mr. Milverton, alias Crogley, to come and collect his stick at his earliest possible convenience."

"At once, sir." said the waiter with a nod, who proceeded to exit the room.

"Mr. Crogley works within the government, and communicates a number of telegraphs from the Cabinet Office to other government departments. But that's a story for another time. Please, gentlemen, do take a seat."

We took our seats opposite Mycroft.

"Now then, gentlemen, I wish to offer you an interesting matter that has been brought to my attention." said Mycroft "It concerns of great national security to this country, and I assure you that you will be handsomely paid."

"As I have said before, my work is my own reward." said Sherlock Holmes.

"As I was about to say, this is the outline of the case." said Mycroft Holmes, handing Sherlock a copy of the day's newspaper. "Inside there is an article relating to the death of Colonel Warburton. A death under a set of extraordinary circumstances."

"Extraordinary?"

"Yes. I got word of it just this morning myself. From a friend of your's Sherlock, Detective Inspector L- well, I trust you know who _exactly_ I am talking about. " said Mycroft, stopping himself from naming the detective inspector who may have informed him. "A peculiar case indeed."

"Yes, I read it this morning myself." I said "Apparently, he committed suicide."

"'Apparently' being the operative word, doctor."

"Yes indeed." said Sherlock Holmes "It says 'Col. James Warburton, aged 50, died shockingly and suddenly last night. While Scotland Yard have yet to release any official information relating to his death, it has been confirmed by an anonymous source within the Home Office that the apparent cause of death was suicide.'"

"Yes, apparently, Colonel Warburton had been experiencing apparent minor 'fits' of madness over the last number of months, becoming more and more frequent." explained Mycroft "And apparently, last night, in what would have been his final fit of madness, he chose to defenestrate himself through his bedroom window."

"But what was the cause behind these apparent fits of madness?"

"Goodness knows, Sherlock. Goodness knows, and yet we don't."

"And in what way does this concern you, Mycroft?"

"Why dear Sherlock, Colonel Warburton was very high up within Her Majesty's Ministry of Defence, and himself sat in upon a number of meetings that were of maximum secrecy." explained Mycroft, leaning forward in his chair "Regarding the planning and preparation of her majesty's army and navy, the information of which, as you know, Sherlock, from your involvement in the  _naval treaty_ incident, would be  immensely valuable in the hands of our empire's many enemies. Both the Prime Minister and the Minister for Defence have given me  _carte blanche_ in ensuring that no information has been leaked. Hence, it is why I have come to you."

"I see. Why are you yourself not investigating?"

"Come now, Sherlock. We both know the answer to that question. You  _did_ inherit the energy of the family, after all."

"Yes, for if investigation both started and ended in an armchair, I do fear that I may  _not_ have been the world's  **only** consulting detective. Very well, Mycroft, I can see that I have no other choice but to accept your 'case' of sorts."

"Very good, Sherlock. Very good. I have already made arrangements, and assured that the case was assigned to Inspector Hopkins, who I believe to be a student of your own methods."

"Well," said Sherlock "he has solved a number of peculiar cases before, such as that of  _Black Peter_ and  _The Golden Pince-Nez_. So I dare think that young Hopkins is more than up to the task."

"Excellent." said Mycroft "I have taken the liberty of booking you and Doctor Watson here a cab to the late colonel's estate. They expect your arrival shortly."

"I see that you have  _assumed_ , my dear brother. A grave error to make in the line of deduction, for one can often confuse theories for the facts, and the facts for theories."

"My dear Sherlock, I did not assume, I knew that you would accept the case. The same way that I can tell you that you have not had a case in three weeks by the way you're holding your arm -- using morphine again against the will of Doctor Watson, haven't you? Who obviously disapproves of your little dirty habit. Furthermore, you've been lying down on the settee more often than recently going by the way your hand has been pressed into the fabric and subsequently temporarily patterned, and your hand suggests you've been using a firearm more than frequently of late."

Mycroft looked toward me and away from Sherlock.

"Decorating the wall, I assume, doctor?"

"Why yes! Just the other day he lined the wall with a number of bullet pocks, in the shape of the patriotic letters **V.R** on the wall. I must say that when he started, he wouldn't stop, and he gave me quite a fright with the way he did it so--"

"--suddenly?"

"Yes, that's the word."

"Believe me, he's done similar in the past, doctor, and I imagine that you'll wish to give him a stern lecture on your journey, so I'll leave you to it; and remind you not to speak until you're out the door, for fear that your talking could be disruptive to the other members of our establishment. Very well. Good luck, gentlemen! And do not dillydally Sherlock! We can't wait a week."


	2. Stanley Hopkins

After we had bade Mycroft goodbye, we stepped outside into the hansom that was waiting to take us to the late colonel's estate to investigate this very peculiar mystery.

Holmes spent most of the journey looking around himself, making the odd remark to himself as we passed through the streets. I, on the other hand, chose to be much more verbal than he, for once; and spent the time explaining yet  _again_ the dangers he was putting himself into and the damage he was doing to himself through his black habit. I even listed off for him those who would or could be affected if it became serious in later years.

Yet it appeared to me that he had deliberately ignored me throughout our entire journey, and that the conversation would have been better used with a horse.

We arrived, not long after, at the estate of Colonel Warburton. The tall mansion looked across the rather expensive-looking estate. It had a large front garden and what appeared to be an even larger back garden.

The garden, at a glance, appeared to be a peaceful one. It had a small and decorative pond near the front, with lilly pads, some algae, and a number of exotic fish within; as is the typical fashion of many large estate owners; a small gazebo, and a number of flowers, bushes, grasses, shrubs and trees surrounding the gravel path to the front of the house.

The peace of this garden, however, appeared to have been disturbed by the large police presence, as well as what appeared to be glass shards at the side of the house, which glittered in the morning sunlight.

"Good morning, Inspector!" called Sherlock Holmes toward the inspector, who had his back turned away from us.

"Ah! Good morning, Mr. Holmes!" cried Stanley Hopkins, stepping over toward us "I was just about to call for you, for a matter of fact."

"Really, Inspector?"

"Yes! For we are stuck, and when we are stuck, we come to you, do we not?"

"Yes, it was from my brother that I heard about this particular case."

"Ah, I knew you'd hear about it somewhere along the grape vine, Mr. Holmes. And as the papers this morning have been saying, it really is quite the most peculiar incident."

"It is indeed. A man descending into mania on a small number of occasions -- a rich military man, nevertheless -- before in an act of pure insanity, one night, he ends up defenestrating himself from his window."

"Perhaps it is a symptom of shell shock?" I suggested "For when I was invalided out of the Afghan war, I witnessed a number of soldiers that had fought and been injured alongside me had been displaying symptoms of mania as a result of the shock."

"It most certainly could be, doctor." said Hopkins "However, the colonel had been retired out of active military service for a number of years, and has spent time instead at her Majesty's Ministry Of Defence, and was thought to be one of those shortlisted by Archibald Primrose to be Secretary of State for War. He also spent time in the admiralty, doing work on naval defence tactics as well, in his spare time."

"Yes, my brother informed me." said Holmes.

"Well I can outline the facts for you, sir. If you will simply follow me."

We followed Hopkins a short distance to the side of the house, where a large deep red stain of blood lay upon the ground, amongst the glass shards and pieces of broken window frame.

"Terribly sorry that you couldn't have been here earlier." said Stanley Hopkins "We had to remove the body urgently in-order to preserve the evidence, but the scene remains, more or less, untouched."

"Thank you, Inspector." said Holmes, crouching down to carefully examine the blood pool with his glass in his usual careful and silent manner.

Before long, he took out a handkerchief and used it to carefully lift a glass shard that was still attached to a piece of window frame to examine it closely and properly, even going as far as to hold it up to the sunlight.

"Hum!" he hummed.

"What is it?" Hopkins asked.

"Mm? Nothing, Inspector. But do tell me," said Sherlock Holmes  "were there any particular witnesses to the colonel's death?"

"Why yes, Mr. Holmes. The colonel's wife and his butler, I believe. Why is it that you ask?"

"I may wish to interview them myself."

"If that is what you wish, then I'll see what I can arrange."

"Wait, inspector. Has the body of the victim been moved to Scotland Yard for autopsy?"

"Yes, the body was removed only this morning."

"Excellent, I should still wish to examine the body, regardless of it being moved or trampled over by a herd of elephants, for it is often the key piece of evidence in " said Sherlock Holmes "Would it be possible to arrange such an examination, Inspector?"

"Certainly sir, for you, Mr. Holmes, it shouldn't be a problem at all."

"Excellent, Hopkins. May we go and interview the late colonel's wife and butler then? Very good. Come along, Watson."

Holmes strode back around to the front of the colonel's house, with a stern look and furrowed brow upon his face -- the look that I am used to seeing upon Holmes's face when he is in immensely deep thought. It was clear that this case was much more complex than anybody had first imagined.


	3. Edgar Harper

And so Stanley Hopkins and I followed Sherlock Holmes, and stepped inside the tall and stately mansion where such a strange tragedy had unfolded.

Inside, the grand front hall's floor was covered with shiny black and white marble tiles, and white-painted wood panelling on the walls alongside the old portraits of who appeared to be the ancient ancestors of the Warburton family, and their suits of armour that remained at every doorway.

We were greeted almost immediately after stepping in by a man who appeared to be a somewhat older mirrored image of myself, as though I were looking at a mirror image of myself in a number of years time. He was fairly well built, with both greying and slightly thinning chestnut brown hair and a moustache. As for what he wore, he wore a grey suit with white tie, and carried a silver serving-tray underarm.

"Good morning, Inspector. Sirs." he greeted us with a bow. "How may I be of assistance to you regarding this dreadful matter?"

"You must be the butler, going by the way you are dressed." observed Hopkins, who is a known pupil of my friend's own methods of observation and deduction.

"Indeed I am, Inspector." he replied, retaining his stiff upper-lip "My name is Harper. Edgar Harper. I am the, sorry, I  _was_ under the _late_ Colonel Warburton's employ as his butler."

"My name is Stanley Hopkins." said Hopkins "This is Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who is assisting the Yard in its inquiries, and this is Doctor Watson, who often assists him in his own cases."

"A pleasure to meet you both, I am sure." said Harper.

"Please tell me, Harper," asked Holmes "would it be possible to speak to the colonel's wife?"

Harper said with an apologetic bow: "I must apologise and say that you may not."

"Why ever not?" enquired Hopkins.

"I am afraid that Mrs. Warburton is not in a good state at the moment. I summoned the family doctor, and he insisted that she be not allowed any visitors, police or otherwise, until she is better."

"I see." said Holmes.

"I had a constable try to speak to her earlier, and she was rather inconsolable." said Stanley Hopkins "And it was, per my recommendation, that he summon the family doctor."

"Rather understandable," said Sherlock Holmes "as when we lose the things that matter most to us, we may not wish to pay attention to the other things which surround us. In that case, may I trouble you with a number of my questions, Harper?"

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes. I shall do my best to answer any and all questions you have for me; for I currently lack any current tasks anyway."

"Excellent. Well, when did the first episodes of this 'madness' first appear in Colonel Warburton?"

"As far as I remember, sir, it was but only a number of months ago. It was, however, only short lasting."

"Short lasting?" asked Hopkins

"Yes," replied Harper "short lasting."

"How long exactly," asked Sherlock Holmes "is short lasting?"

"I do not remember any exact numbers. However, it was not very long. Only but a few minutes."

"Well tell me then, what did he do during these periods of 'madness'?"

 "I'm afraid that it would depend, sir. However, most periods he would be sat in his chair or standing stock-still, with a wide-eyed expression upon his face as he quietly muttered gibberish to himself. He would also become somewhat on-edge, sir, as well as being extremely paranoid and sweating ferociously."

"He could often, when he could speak proper English during the fits, complain of the room being warm, and may take into fits of shouting and screaming. It would be especially worse if he was sat by any artworks or paintings.

"And why would that be?"

"He would often remark of the paintings coming to life."

"To life?" I asked.

"Yes, doctor, to life." he replied "Particularly, paintings of fantastical creatures such as dragons or gryffens; but he has also been fearful of creatures of the desert and of the jungle that man has learned to be fearful of, such as lions and tigers."

"I see." said Sherlock Holmes "would the colonel take these fits around this house only? Or would he take them outside of the home as well?"

"Only when he was in the house would he take these fits of 'madness', sir," explained Harper "and I am thankful for it. For if word ever escaped from this household of these fits of 'mania', as you may call them, there would be no end of talk, rumour and scandal to say the least, especially with his position within military planning."

"Indeed." I agreed.

"Tell me, Harper," asked Stanley Hopkins "did the colonel ever destroy property during these fits?"

"Why, yes, inspector. He did."

"And what, exactly, did he destroy?" he asked, taking out his official notebook and pencil, eager to make a list.

"Well, Inspector, it was not until some of his later fits he took to destroying property. However, I can tell you that he defaced a number of paintings with an old display sword or by standing on it -- reprints, and not originals, thankfully. Then he destroyed a large amount o books that he was interested in reading -- by burning them,, as well as dropping an oil lamp upon a bearskin rug that he was fearful of coming to life and attacking him, and almost set fire to his study in the same process. Fortunately, the alarm was raised before any major damage could be done."

"And did he attempt to defenestrate himself before the incident?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"Not at all, sir. Nor did he show any tendencies toward suicide or ending his life in any manner."

"And were you present when he did decide to do so, and end his life?"

"I was in the room below -- the dining room, for it is my usual evening ritual to polish the cutlery at such a time. I had heard the crash, and looked out the window to see the colonel falling after the sound of the window shattering and the falling pieces of glass and window-frame. I immediately raised the alarm with a constable, but my efforts, sadly, didn't seem to be enough."

"I see. Tell me, did you serve the Colonel Warburton for long?"

"Me, sir?" asked Harper "No, sir. The last butler the colonel had had to retire due to ill health. I have only served the colonel for six months."

"Have you served any others previously?"

"Yes, sir."

"Whom did you serve?"

"A number of families, sir."

"Which families were these?"

"The Forrester family was the first family I served, under David Forrester, the High Court judge. Then I served Paul Bailey, the MP for Coventry South, before serving Edward Bradford --"

"The current police commissioner?" asked Hopkins.

"The very same." replied Harper.

"Then I served the Spencer family, the Anderson family and then the Parker family before I gained my employment here."

"Why did you leave your previous posts?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"For private reasons."

"What were the reasons?"

"For the majority of times, I was made, as you may say, redundant, sir. Other cases, I opted to resign of my own accord. Such cases happen where maids and butlers need to resign from their position or move on, whether it be through pay or through other reasons."

"Very well then. I'm sorry to say that we will not be able to continue our enquiries unless we speak with the wife of the late colonel. Could you please go find and ask Mrs. Warburton if we may speak to her? It is in relation with the official investigation, and I hope you are capable of accompanying us if Mrs. Warburton requests it, Inspector?"

"I can certainly accompany you, Mr. Holmes." said Hopkins "However, if Mrs. Warburton wishes not to speak to me, I'm more than ready to trust you to carry out a proper interview."

"Very good, sirs." said Harper, accepting Holmes's card and Inspector Hopkins's card and placing them on the tray that he was holding underarm - carrying it off up the stairs toward the room where Mrs. Warburton was presumably waiting in until she gave other notice. We waited for a few minutes, before Harper returned to us, and returned our cards.

"Madam says that she agrees, sir. On the terms that Inspector Hopkins will accompany you, and that you will not press too hard for details or interview her for too long, for the doctor recommended that she gets plenty of rest, and that she isn't disturbed too much unless  _absolutely_ nescessary."

"Excellent. We accept these terms."

"Madam will be in the drawing room shortly. If you wish to follow me, gentlemen, then I shall escort you."


	4. A Conversation with Elizabeth Warburton

Harper led us to a room beside the grand stairway, which appeared to be the house's drawing room.

"Madam will be with you shortly," said Harper "in the meantime, please feel free to make yourselves feel at home and feel comfortable, sirs."

The drawing room had dark red patterned wallpaper, and dark oak panelling on the walls and wooden floorboards. There were two gas lamps on the wall - one either side of the large hearth, which already had a large warm fire crackling and burning within it.

The curtains on the wall French window had been closed - for the window was close to where the colonel had met his fate, and the police investigation was still ongoing, so it was perhaps a move taken in great taste.

Above the fireplace was a mounted and stuffed head of a deer - its large antlers protruding well-over the boundaries of the mantelpiece, and at such great height that they were mere inches away from scratching the surface of the ceiling.

On the floor in-front of the fireplace, there was a long bearskin rug that appeared to be slightly scorched, perhaps supporting the earlier claims of the butler of what had occurred during the fits of apparent mania, as did a number of slightly scorched books on a shelf beside the colonel's desk.

Above the settee, opposite the fireplace and the mounted deer, there were further mounted heads. The mounted heads of a tiger, a lioness, and a gorilla.

Holmes had, already, helped himself to a basket chair, and had his leg already on-top of the other's knee, and his fingers tented together with his usual languid expression upon his face. 

After a few moments of silence, save for the sound of a spark cracking from the fireplace and hitting off of the fireguard, Harper once again reappeared, in accompaniment with the colonel's widow.

"Elizabeth Warburton, gentlemen." announced Harper.

The late colonel's wife was a tall, refined but plump woman, wearing what appeared to be a rich black outfit, complete with mourning veil, which she had rested up upon her head in-order to be able to speak with us properly. While she was trying to remain refined, it was clear that she had been crying a lot o late, going by the redness of her cheeks and around her eyes.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." said Mrs. Warburton, taking a seat upon the settee and rubbing her eye slightly with a handkerchief. "How is it that I may be of assistance to you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion "and this is Doctor Watson. We are aiding Inspector Hopkins here with the investigation into your husband's death."

"Thank you for all that you are already doing, gentlemen. I understand that you have a number of questions, for me?"

"Indeed." said Stanley Hopkins "We understand that you are, already, dreadfully upset, and I just need to confirm, madam, that you are one hundred percent able and willing in-order to answer the questions that Mr. Holmes or I may have for you. If you do not feel like answering any of our questions at any point, please let us know at once, for I am sure that we are able to make other enquiries into the affair elsewhere."

"It is more than alright." said Mrs. Warburton "If I do not feel like answering your questions, I am sure that I will be able to answer them at a later point of the day."

"If you are certain, then." said Holmes "For the first question; did your husband ever discuss is work with you or others, such as with friends, family or others within this household?"

"James rarely did discuss his work. And even when he discussed it, he rarely went into much detail about it. He was of the belief that work matters should remain at work, and that household matters should remain within our household."

"And if or when he did discuss work, what matters did he discuss?"

"Oh, only dribs and drabs. Such as who he met on the way to work or from it." she explained "H might also discuss who was at work with him - nothing too confidential, he told me. He never did discuss what he was planning, what he was helping to plan, or any other military matters. He did, however, discuss some of the personalities who worked with him."

"Did he mention any of them by name?"

"Rarely, only by first name or surname only, seeing as many of them are of high-level within work, and some even had specially codenamed positions." she continued "There was one gentleman he described, though. He described him to be pompous and rather fat. He was an intelligent fellow, he said, very intelligent, but had no energy, and was as lazy as a cat in the sun, and opted instead to remain for the most part of his days in a rather peculiar club where the patrons remain silent for the duration of the entire day."

"Hum! I think I know the fellow you are describing." said Sherlock Holmes with a snigger, who appeared to have a smirk upon his face for only a split second, before resuming his usual cold and judicial look. "But tell me, did he ever mention any of the projects that he worked upon?"

"Rarely. And as I have explained, Mr. Holmes, he rarely went into any amount of great detail."

"Did you, personally, Mrs. Warburton, ever mention any of this discussion with other friends, family or members of the household?"

"Never."

"And why not?"

"Because," explained Mrs. Warburton "he told me that there would be both a great amount of trouble and scandal if the information were to leak in any way, and even more so if the leak were to be traced back to this household."

"Very understandable, madam." said Hopkins, nodding in agreement "And now regarding the colonel's fits of 'madness', for want of a better word, could you please describe what happened?"

"What is it that you wish to know?"

"What is it, exactly, that occurred during the first 'fit', to be specific."

"It was somewhat less eventful than the others. James was sat in the basket chair that you are currently sitting in, Mr. Holmes, and he was reading a book. I, on the other hand, had needle and thread in hand, and was embroidering a pattern that a friend had loaned to me into some fabric.

"All was quiet when his breathing had started to become deep and rapid. He then also began to sweat madly, and his pupils were dilated.

"At this point, I asked him, 'James, are you alright, dear?', but he appeared to be unable to give me any form of proper reply. I was fearing that he was taking some form of heart attack or stroke, so I had Harper send for the butler at once.

"The fit ended not long before the doctor arrived, and he examined him. All had appeared to be well."

"And the second fit?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"It was about three days afterwards, and James had decided to take time to himself in the library. This time he was reading a fantasy book, which featured quite wonderful illustrations, if I may say so."

"And where were you?"

"I was out, visiting a friend of mine. I came back to find him lying on the floor, pointing at the book and screaming at it. I asked him: 'James, what on earth is wrong?'

"To which I got the reply of: 'Can you not see them, Elizabeth? They're _everywhere_!'

 "Unsure by what he actually meant, I asked, 'What's everywhere?'

"'The animals! The _animals_! They're everywhere!' he shrieked wildly, pointing at his book, that lay open and upside down upon the floor. 'They have escaped, and they are everywhere!'

"I looked at the book myself there and then, and found that all illustrations were in their proper place, as should be. And neither the maids or the butler could find any such animals on-site, or any traces thereof."

"Very true, ma'am." said Harper "No stone was left unturned, and we found no fantastic beasts roaming the grounds. And we would perhaps know where to find them if there were any sightings of harpies in the sky nor any centaurs within the area."

"He appeared to be fine immediately afterwards."

"And the fit that followed that one?" asked Holmes.

"The next, I had heard a tremendous racket from James's old hunting room. He frequently used to go upon trips to India and Africa, on the hunt for various creatures such as lions, elephants and rhinoceroses, and he kept all of his mementos and souvenirs from his trips in there.

"Immediately, Harper and I both rushed up, and found that bear rug, on the floor, there, beginning to burn next to a broken oil lantern. A number of paintings had been defaced by being slashed with his pocket knife, and there were a number of books in the fireplace.

"'What on  _earth_ are you doing, James?' I cried.

"I'm trapping them! I'm getting rid of the animals!' he cried, as he stamped angrily on the book he was reading earlier, yelling 'Die, you blighters! Die!'

"Thankfully, he eventually snapped out of it, but remained paranoid, opting to avoid any room with animals or traces of them within, and he avoided any of the books he was reading, all of which had illustrations of animals within."

"What book was he reading, by the way, Mrs. Warburton?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

" _Animal Adventures in the Orient_ , I think, Mr. Holmes. I'm sorry, but I do not have the book for you to examine as part of your investigation. It was all but destroyed in the fireplace upstairs."

"I see. And I assume that the fourth fit, the one which occurred last night, was the final fit of 'madness'? Please could you detail that for us?" asked Inspector Hopkins.

"It was nearly bedtime, and James had already went to bed, taking care to avoid all the animals on the way. He displayed extreme paranoia, and refused to even leave the house in-case there was to be a dog or a cat on its prowl. I was only heading to bed myself when I heard an immensely noisy crashing sound, as though the window had been broken though the window." said Mrs. Warburton, dabbing her eye again.

"I rushed in, only to see that the window had been broken through from the inside, and rushed over to see what had happened. It was there that I saw James, lying on the ground in a pool of blood and glass shards."

"Was there anything inside your bedroom that may have frightened your husband?"

"Yes, a large stuffed bear that a friend had brought back from Canada for him, as a present. Harper moved it for him out of the room the day before, seeing as he had taken this strange and perverse aversion toward animals. It may have been that he had taken another 'fit' of madness and thought the bear was going to attack him, and leapt from the window."

"I see. Harper, did you by chance move the bear back into the room?"

"No, sir."

"You are certain?"

"Yes, sir."

"I see. I should feel as though we should inspect the bedroom now, Mrs. Warburton, if you will allow us. You have been very brave in our interview, may I add."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes. And yes, you may inspect the bedroom, so long as Inspector Hopkins accompanies you. Did you move anything after last night, Harper?"

"No, ma'am. I thought it better not to touch anything, should the police were to investigate it."

"Very good, Harper. Please show these gentlemen up to the room."

"Yes, ma'am. Gentlemen, please follow me, if you wi-"

"Watson and I will not be going."

"You're not?"

"I'm afraid so, Inspector."

"But why, Holmes?" I asked.

"Because, Watson," said Sherlock Holmes "we have yet to properly examine the body of the victim, and that much is paramount to our investigation. Furthermore, I trust Hopkins will be able to carry out a proper examination of the bedroom by himself and a number of other officers."

"If you say so, Mr. Holmes." said Hopkins.

"If that is what you wish, Mr. Holmes." said Mrs. Warburton.

"Excellent. We shall return whenever we are finished making our enquiries, for I think that I may have an excellent idea already what caused these strange fits of 'madness' within the colonel's mind and body."

"Well, what is it then, Mr. Holmes?"

"All in good time, madam. For a theory remains a theory until it is proven correct, then it shall become the truth." said Holmes "Now then, Watson. If you would kindly get us a cab - a hansom will do - I must finish a few matters quickly with Inspector Hopkins, and then I shall be out immediately to join you."


	5. Scotland Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not being able to update this chapter for a while! Been really busy with school work and stuff.

I have often remarked in my chronicles of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who has himself often remarked the same, about the work that goes on within Scotland Yard, the home of Her Majesty's  _official_ police force. And yet it is that I myself have never once been inside of Scotland Yard itself.

Certainly, Holmes has been inside of Scotland Yard many different times before in order to aid and assist the official detectives of the police force with many cases that I have had little or no involvement in before, such as the incident of the missing special train in the fog, or the affair of the man with the watches - both of which Sherlock Holmes himself had published under the alias of " _an ameteur reasoner_ " while dismantling Professor Moriarty's criminal network in Europe "post-mortem" as it were.

The inside of Scotland Yard houses a large wood-panelled and white-plastered reception room, whereupon I saw many of the capital's citizens, and some of its more important public officials, all stood or sat as they waited to be called forward by the desk sergeant, who stood wearily writing down names before weakly shouting them into a voice tube, which snaked its way upward through the ceiling and into the upper office areas.

The upper offices could be easily accessed by pedestrians on foot by a set of stairs, which was behind what appeared to be a small police check-point, guarded by two tall and staunch-looking police officers, who searched every person going in and out.

We were greeted by an officer at the front door, who appeared only to be leaving to begin his beat. "Ah! Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes! And good afternoon to you too, Dr. Watson!"

"Good afternoon, Constable Taylor." responded Holmes just as the constable left.

To my great surprise, Holmes ignored the queue to see the desk sergeant, or the chairs to wait in before being called. Instead, he approached the two constables who stood guard in-front of the staircase. And to my greater surprise they immediately smiled upon seeing him.

"Mr. Holmes. Good afternoon, SIR!" they cried, standing to attention.

"Good afternoon, Constable Smith. And to you too, Constable Nelson," said Holmes cooly.

"On a case then, I assume?" said Smith, on the left.

"Must be a very important one," remarked Nelson "if you're bringing Dr. Watson there along with you."

"It is indeed. But I'm afraid that I cannot discuss much of it yet in the eyes of the general public. But you may be able to assist me, I should hope."

"How so?" asked the constables in unison.

"Was the body of Colonel James Warburton delivered into the medical examination room today?"

"Why, yes!" chimed Constable Nelson "Dr. Gibbons himself told me about it just this morning on his way in. They say it was a case of hysteria, wasn't it?"

"That's certainly what they're saying about it anyway." added Constable Smith "But if you're looking for the Colonel's body and Dr. Gibbons, you'll find them both in Medical Examination Room A."

"Very good. And are there any inspectors in?"

"Why, yes! Inspector Lestrade should be in there somewhere, as is Jones and Gregson. They're all helping out, as someone in the higher ups said that it was a big case, so they're doing research, background checks and the like."

"Excellent. Thank you, gentlemen. Now, if you would please allow us passage. Come now, doctor - follow me, for it is easy to get lost, so please avoid straying behind me, as fast as I may stride. Thank you once again, gentlemen."

The two constables stepped aside and opened the doors. Holmes and I stepped through, before continuing up the stairs inside - Holmes striding up the stairs two steps at a time. I, on the other hand, carried on one step at a time, as quick as my injured leg would allow me. I greeted an individual on the stairs, who appeared to be on his way down. I was informed later by Holmes that this individual was the deputy commissioner of the police himself.

I followed Holmes through the immense labyrinth of hallways and departments, walking past and walking through a number of offices, typing pools, telegraph rooms, laboratories, archives, and libraries. On our way through we met Inspector Lestrade, who happened to be blocking the sign on the door of his office, so only " **Detective Inspector G Lestrade** "was visible.

We then came across Athelney Jones, who happened to be practising his testimony for the police court trial of Bert Stevens, which had yet to get underway.

Then, we encountered Inspector Tobias Gregson, who was in the midst of filing a rather large amount of paperwork.

"What do you intend to do, Holmes?" I asked, as we pressed through another typing pool.

"Simple," replied Sherlock Holmes "I shall listen to Dr. Gibbons's conclusions, before I examine the body and the evidence for myself."

"Very good. Are we almost there yet, Holmes? I must confess that my legs are beginning to hurt from the rather large amount of walking."

"Not long now, doctor. The medical examination room is only around the corner of this corridor."

We stepped around the corner, and we were faced by two tall white doors. On the doors there was a sign, which read:

 **MEDICAL EXAMINATION ROOM A**  
_This is a sterile area.  
As such, only authorised personnel are admitted!_

Sherlock Holmes opened the doors, saying: "Here we are now doctor. Please mind the steps, for they can be quite slippery at times."

I followed him down the dark stairway.


	6. The Late Colonel Warburton's Body

As I followed Holmes down the staircase, I was met with a variety of medical sights and smells in the dark medical-examination room.

The metallic examination equipment, the smell of disinfectant and stale blood.

A man in a white laboratory coat and even whiter hair was stood humming to himself, stood above a long medical table and under the single electric light bulb that lit up the body and the examination table from above.

"Ah! Dr. Gibbons!" cried Sherlock Holmes "There you are!"

"Ah, hallo, Mr. Holmes," said the doctor, looking up from his work "I was only  _just_ finishing up. Here for another one, are you?"

"Yes. Doctor Watson, this is Doctor Gary Gibbons, who has helped me with many lines of enquiry in the past. Doctor Gibbons, this is Doctor John Watson, who has been kind enough to accompany me and chronicle a number of my cases before."

"A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. Always nice to see a medical man like meself."

"The feeling is mutual," I remarked, shaking his hand "really now, Holmes, this is much more my area of expertise."

"I am glad you think so, Dr. Watson." said Holmes with an uncharacteristic smirk "May we examine the colonel's body, Dr. Gibbons?"

"You may do so, Mr. Holmes. I have only just finished examining the body, so it may not be in 'the  _original_ condition', as you may wish to find the body in, however it is all that I am currently able to provide to you."

"It should suffice," said Holmes, removing his coat before grabbing a white apron that had been stained previously with large, dark splotches of brown and red, and tying it behind his back. He rolled up his sleeves, and pulled on a pair of gloves. He pulled off the sheet that covered the colonel's cadaver, and the pale, naked, wide-eyed corpse of Colonel James Warburton looked up at the ceiling.

"Do you wish to observe, Watson?" he asked, as Dr. Gibbons walked off to the side to complete his report.

"I should. I have never examined your medical experiments up-close before."

"What you heard from your friend Stamford, Watson, was merely hearsay," remarked Holmes "I am not always so barbaric in my experiments."

"Yes, hearing such remarks were rather shocking and unbelievable..." I responded, removing my hat and coat and tying my apron, "still I must say that I have always found you to be quite the unbelievable man yourself, Holmes."

"You are much too kind, doctor," said Holmes with a broader smirk, lifting a scalpel in his hand "much too kind indeed. Tell me, Dr. Gibbons, have you drained this body of its blood yet?"

"Mm? Not at all yet, Mr. Holmes," commented Dr. Gibbons "that's what the embalmer does, and he won't be back from Surrey until this evening."

"Excellent. Now, Watson, will you cut the colonel's hand for me?"

"I beg your pardon?!" I cried, surprised at my companion turning me into an assistant for his own gruesome attempt at an autopsy.

"I said, will you cut the colonel's hand - across the palm, should do it. I shall need to time how long it takes for the blood to coagulate and stop bleeding. A large, deep cutting wound if you please."

"Oh. Very well..." I said, not faced with much of a choice. I took the scalpel from him and made a deep a cut as I could make it across the palm of the late colonel's hand, which began to drip with blood and onto the floor. Dr. Gibbons quickly kicked an empty disinfectant bucket underneath the table before the blood could drip onto the white-tiled floor.

"Yes, Watson, that's it," said Holmes, watching his pocket watch and carefully counting the seconds on the dial. We stood for around a minute, before the post-mortem bleeding finally stopped.

"Hum! Interesting! Very interesting!" Holmes finally proclaimed, snapping shut the cover on his watch and pocketing it again. "He bled much too slowly!"

"Too slowly?" I asked.

"Yes, doctor. You should know what happens to the blood after death."

"It drains from the major arteries and into the minor veins such as the capillaries of the hand," I said, before suddenly realising. "You mean to say that at the time of his death, his veins were dilated?"

"The very same, doctor! Your knowledge is most excellent. Most excellent indeed! Why, if I had a choice in the matter, I should appoint you Surgeon General myself!"

"Oh, well, thank you," I replied, bashfully.

"Doctor Gibbons! What was the contents of the Colonel's stomach?" cried Holmes.

"I have them here." replied Dr. Gibbons, holding a metal kidney dish in-front of us. Inside was a mixture of food, mashed up and digested, and smelled most pungent.

"Halloa!" cried Sherlock Holmes triumphantly "Halloa, halloa, halloa!"

"What is it?" I asked.

Holmes drew a pair of tweezers from his apron's pocket, and carefully used it to push apart the large chunks of undigested food. He carefully lifted out what appeared to be a small piece of white paper.

"Eureka," said Holmes, holding it up to the light to examine it.

"What is it, Holmes?"

"The cause of death, Doctor Watson. The answer."

"A small piece of paper?" I asked "That could have fallen in after it was removed from the body, surely?"

"It couldn't, Doctor Watson. I do not work with pieces of paper so small," remarked Dr. Gibbons, equally amazed "and the only persons who have been in the room after the stomach was opened was you two and myself." 

"Well, what the devil is it?"

"A dangerous narcotic," replied Holmes.

"It doesn't appear to be any narcotic I have ever heard of," I replied.

"Nor one that the pathology department here at Scotland Yard or at St. Bartholomew's Hospital would be aware of. A rather new and equally dangerous drug. I keep my ears close to the cobbled streets of London, you see, and I keep very much up-to-date on any new drugs that may be made or taken, as it could become very much valuable in the line of my investigative work."

"What is it, then?"

"It is a form of acid, Watson, soaked into the paper. The user merely has to take place it upon their tongue or to swallow it, and the effects will soon become obvious. It causes; mainly, hallucinations, sweating, increased heart-rate, blended senses, and immense anxiety."

"That would explain why he thought the animals in his book were coming to life! And the taxidermied animals!"

"Precisely, Watson! Precisely!" said Holmes "And quite remarkable! We must go and see the evidence kept on the colonel's person at the time at once!"


	7. The Late Colonel's Belongings

"Here we are, gentlemen," said Lestrade.

The rat-faced police inspector fiddled with a ring of keys, before using one to unlock the tall and heavy-looking iron door. A plaque on the front of it said " **EVIDENCE VAULT** ". though it was built like a fortress.

"Thank you, inspector," said Sherlock Holmes, as Lestrade opened the door with a loud and high-pitched squeak, and we stepped inside the room. Inside were numerous filing cabinets, all labelled individually with names and case-numbers. The room was also dark, and a great deal of the sunlight coming from the window blocked by the thick iron bars fixed to it from both sides.

Lestrade took out a heavy and tattered-looking official ledger and opened it, beginning to check through the pages. "Let's see," he said, flicking through the pages "who was it you wanted again?"

"Warburton. James Warburton," repeated Holmes, as I lifted some dust off of a brass-coloured filing cabinet with my finger and blew it off with a slight disgust.

"Let's see... he'd be one of the newer ones... Warburton... Warburton... AH! Here we are!"

He pointed a finger at the record.

"His things are in... file number three."

Lestrade carefully pulled open the drawer, and laid it onto a wooden table in the centre of the room, which was lit dimly by the glow of a hooded reading lamp.

"Let's see... one watch - damaged," read Lestrade, squinting at it slightly in the darkness of the room "keys, reading glasses - also damaged, one handkerchief - monogrammed and torn slightly."

Holmes and I inspected the contents of the drawer. Indeed, what Lestrade had listed off were the only items within the drawer.

"Hum!" said Holmes, with great interest, opening the front cover of the pocket watch, and inspecting it for a second "No, nothing. Interesting," he said as he snapped it shut suddenly.

"What is it you are looking for, Holmes?"

"Evidence, Watson. Evidence that the colonel was a self-poisoner."

"And have you any?"

"I have none sadly."

"So what does that mean then?"

"It means, then, that the poison may not be self administered," replied Sherlock Holmes "as you saw, Watson, the actual LSD paper clipping was mixed in with a food. So it may be that--"

"--Somebody else was poisoning the colonel!" I cried.

"Precisely, my dear Watson! Precisely!" said Holmes, jabbing a finger in the air as a small means of celebration of my triumph "We must return to the Colonel's household and inform Inspector Hopkins at once. Thank you very much for letting us in, Lestrade."

"No problem, Mr. Holmes, any time!" said Lestrade happily, lifting the drawer to put it away again as Holmes raced out the door, which hit off of the wall with a loud and metallic clank.


	8. The Messages

Sherlock Holmes did not speak much during our return ride in a hansom to the colonel's mansion. Instead, he spent the time going through his pocket book of various different notes and observations, reminding himself of a number of events in the upcoming days.

He ordered the driver to stop at the post office on Crown Street, in-order to despatch a telegram. He only told me that the telegraph message was to go directly to an information source of his, only naming the initial  **E**.

"'E' is a close friend and source of mine, Watson," he explained, as he continued to go through his pocketbook "and they have often been of service to me in the past. They were before your time, I'm afraid, so you are unlikely to know their true identity."

"And what role do they hold in this mystery?" I asked, rather intrigued by this stage.

"You may see in time, my dear fellow," said he with a sly and devilish smirk upon his face, before he continued his period of silence once again.

* * *

 

"Ah! Mr. Holmes! You have returned at last!" exclaimed Stanley Hopkins, removing a pair of leather gloves from his hands.

"Have you had any luck in your examination, Hopkins?"

"None at all sir," he replied "And the statements from a number of servants correspond with my own conclusion that the late Colonel Warburton did, indeed, jump out of the window by his own hand. There was no way that he was pushed."

"We have reason to believe, however," Sherlock Holmes retorted "that the colonel did not do so of his own free mind and free will. I'm sorry to say that during the time, he was under the influence of narcotics."

"Narcotics?"

"Indeed, inspector."

"It certainly doesn't sound similar to any kind of narcotic that I have heard of, Mr. Holmes."

"Indeed. As I explained to Watson earlier, it is only a rather recent discovery. I simply  _must_ write a monograph on the topic later whenever I am free to make use of the opportunity to do so."

"It is a form of acid, inspector," I explained, trying to recall the information which Holmes had explained to me "It causes illusions and hallucinations. A fever in the brain, warping and twisting the senses and the very mind itself."

"Perhaps the late Colonel Warburton thought the window to be the only way of escape," added Holmes.

"So, was the colonel a self-poisoner?" asked Hopkins, no longer sure what to think anymore.

"The paper that is laced with the drug was found amongst his stomach contents," I explained "So it is certain that it was given to him during or after food."

"Indeed, Inspector," said Holmes "It seems highly likely that the food that was given to the colonel was laced with the drug."

"But who do you think could have done it, Mr. Holmes?"

"There are all manner of people who may wish to poison the colonel, given his high position in the Admiralty, I understand. The same way that there may be similar sort of threats made on the lives of the Prime Minister or Her Majesty. The incident may have been caused by a foreign spy, or perhaps a person within the household or the admiralty itself who were under the influence of a foreign spy, power, or organisation."

"I see, I see," said Hopkins, stroking his chin in thought. "In that case, it may be wise to complete a full background check on all the staff that were under the colonel's employ."

"Indeed," said Holmes "And an interview with them would be most welcome also, while you're at it."

There suddenly came a voice. "Government messenger!" it cried "Make way, please!"

Immediately, the constables who were protecting the crime-scene and preventing anyone from stumbling in stepped aside, as a scruffy-looking teenage boy with a brown leather satchel lazily slung over his shoulder, and a messenger cap slightly crooked on his head came through. He stepped forward and approached Sherlock Holmes and I.

"Message for Mr. Sherlock Holmes, sir!" said the boy, handing a wax-sealed envelope to Holmes.

It had the crest of Her Majesty's government inscribed on it, as well as the sentences:

**RETURN, ALONG WITH REPLY, TO MESSENGER.  
** **FOR THE DESIGNATED RECIPIENT'S EYES ONLY.**

written across it.

The name " **Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esq.** " was also inscribed on the front.

He opened it, and the familiar-looking neatly handwritten letter within ran like so:

> "Dear Sherlock, [it ran]
> 
> Any progress on Warburton case yet?
> 
> Have heard intelligence that foreign power(s) could be involved.
> 
> Vital you solve case as soon as you possibly can.
> 
> (Signed,)  
> Mycroft"

"It is certainly good to see that Brother Mycroft takes a good interest in the case," remarked Sherlock Holmes with a chuckle "One would have thought that he had abandoned it in favour of myself solving it," he added with a sting of sarcasm.

He took a pencil from his pocket and quickly jotted a reply on the separate sheet of foolscap paper that was included. He placed it into the envelope and closed it over again, handing it back to the messenger boy, who stuffed it into his satchel and went on his way again.

"Inspector!" called Holmes "I shall interview the staff as soon as possible, I should think. I have several different pieces of information due to arrive soon, which could help to point to the potential poisoner of the colonel's food."

"Oh, certainly then, Mr. Holmes," replied Hopkins, "I shall have the constables gather the staff and other members of the household shortly. Once we've found them all, we'll let you know. We shall call you from the drawing room, if you'd like to wait there, sir, whenever we are ready."


	9. The Servants' Wing

Inspector Hopkins led Sherlock Holmes and I into the small drawing room where we had been instructed to wait earlier when we sought to speak to Elizabeth Warburton, and waited for her to be ready for us.

Holmes had commandeered a chair again, and was in his usual perched position, his fingers tented together, and his brows knotted together as he maintained his usual languid state when in deep in thought about the facts that are related to the most eccentric of cases. It reminded me, almost, of the strange incident of the fishmonger's murder, which was ordered by Professor Moriarty himself. Holmes had sat in his usual trance-like state for nearly a week, and he would respond to no stimuli or to accept any offer of food as he thought.

After that particular week had ended, he had managed to bring the case to a conclusion. However, that particular case is a story for another time.

I paced around the room, looking at the patterning of the wallpaper, and the stag's head that was mounted above the fireplace, which still burned heartily and healthily, sending a great deal of smoke up the chimney. The small carriage clock on-top of the mantelpiece ticked quietly, proving to be the only sound in the room itself, next to our breathing and my footsteps. I blew a sigh.

"It is not long now, Watson," said Holmes, his eyes still closed and his brow still knotted.

I sat myself down into an armchair and continued to wait, before I heard footsteps along the corridor. I looked around in hope, but, alas, it was not meant to be, as they continued past, and went up the stairs.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and a young flaxen-haired constable looked in at us.

"They are ready for you now in the kitchen, Mr Holmes. If you and Dr Watson would be kind enough to follow after me, I will lead you straight there."

To my surprise, Holmes suddenly sprang up from his position and his face was as stern, cold and emotional as always. "Thank you, constable. Doctor?"

Holmes followed the young constable from the room and along a corridor, which was decorated with black and white hunting pictures, and a number of oil-paintings of hunting scenes, featuring, in one, what appeared to be the young James Warburton himself on horseback on Christmas Day, 1860, at the young age of twenty-five. The corridor shared the same black and white marble tiling as the front-hall of the mansion.

A number of windows looked out onto the back garden, which was also immaculate, and decorated highly with a number of exotic tropical plants from the rainforests and the orient.

I followed after Holmes and the police constable as we were led into a side door, which appeared to be the entrance to the servants' wing, which was as immaculate as the rest of the house. In-fact, one would have thought that they had never left the main living quarters of the house at all!

Down another corridor was the entrance way into the kitchen, where all of the staff had been gathered for a meeting under such strange and yet so tragic circumstances. Inspector Hopkins was there too, being escorted by another constable, presumably the associate of the one that was escorting us.

"Here we are, Mr Holmes," said Hopkins, who was sat down at the table in the centre of the white-tiled kitchen, which was as chaotically organised as Holmes's bedroom, with utensils and pans all over the table.

There were a number of butlers, but it seemed that Harper may have held the position of chief butler to the colonel, who was still stood in attendance to Elizabeth Warburton, who had sat down in a chair at the table beside Inspector Hopkins and his constable.

There was an old, short, fat woman with brown bedraggled-looking hair covered by a white bonnet, a green garment, which was covered by a long white apron, which led me to believe that she was the household cook.

Also in attendance was a number of maids, a footman, and a stable boy.

"I trust this is everyone then, Hopkins?" asked Sherlock Holmes, looking around the room as though he were inspecting every member of the small army of staff that served to the needs of Elizabeth and Colonel James Warburton.

"Yes, Mr Holmes," said Hopkins as he was rejoined by the constable who had led us to the kitchen. "This is absolutely everybody under the employ of the Warburton family."

"Very good, I notice also that you have decided to join us, Mrs. Warburton?"

"Yes Mr Holmes. I thought that it would be better for me to be here, in the event that any member of staff under our - I mean,  _my_ employ - should require me to speak on their behalf for any form of alibi."

"Well, you certainly are most kind to your staff, Mrs Warburton," said Holmes with a gentle smile. "May I ask first of all who typically prepares the food in the household?"

"I do," said the fat cook, stepping forward.

"Excellent. May I have your name, please?"

"Alice Carey, sirs. I've been cook to the Warburton family for the last ten years."

"Indeed, Ms Carey has been of great service to us," said Elizabeth Warburton "and has prepared many a delicious breakfast, luncheon, and dinner."

"Very good, I should hope to take you up on your services later, if possible, for I have not eaten since early this morning," said Holmes "and if, in the unlikely event that you were to take sick, Ms Carey, who would then prepare lunch?"

"I have a number of maids trained as assistant cooks, so they often help me out on the occasion," she said with a snaggle-toothed smile.

"And were they cooking any time the colonel took any fits of apparent 'madness'?"

"No, sir," replied the cook "I always cook the meals, unless I can't help it, o' course."

"Very good, and who takes any meals from the kitchen to the dining room or the morning room?"

"We would, sir," said Harper, standing forward along with some of the butlers and servants, "The maids would also have a role in serving meals to ma'am and sir."

"Can you vouch  _fully_ for every staff member, Mrs Warburton?" asked Sherlock Holmes.

"Certainly, many of them have served us for a number of years-"

"Have there been any recent additions to the staff, Mrs Warburton?" asked Inspector Hopkins "In recent months or days, preferably?"

Holmes gave a slight smirk in the direction of Hopkins. It was clear that the young and fair-haired inspector had managed to deduce precisely what Holmes had meant.

"Now that you think of it, Harper is quite a recent hire himself," said Elizabeth Warburton, glancing in the butler's direction. I noticed that the butler's ears had turned a light shade of pink.

"I see..." said Holmes "I believe you said so yourself, Mr Harper, that you were only recently hired by the Warburton household. By a number of weeks, wasn't it?"

"That's right," said Harper "Six months."

"Indeed, he came highly recommended from James's cousin - David Forrester, the High Court judge, and a few others."

"As far as I recall, it was also an MP and the current police commissioner that apparently recommended Mr Harper," I remarked.

"Indeed, Doctor Watson," said Mrs Warburton, with a nod of amazement.

"I have served the Colonel's meal to him, personally, under multiple occasions," said Harper, continuing his earlier testimony "as I have my previous masters and mistresses, to the full of one's own abilities."

Holmes gave a slight snigger: "Are you quite sure?"

Hopkins, Mrs. Warburton, the Constables and Edgar Harper himself all cocked their eyebrows.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" asked Harper.

"I said: are you quite sure about that, Mr Harper?"

There came a knock on the door.

"Come in!" ordered Elizabeth Warburton.

The door creaked open, and a police constable entered the room with some envelopes in-hand "Pardon the interruptions," he said, bowing his head by a means of respect, his helmet nearly falling off of the top of his head as he did so, "but I have only just had a number of messages delivered to me, all addressed to one Mr Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah, thank you constable," said Sherlock Holmes, accepting the number of envelopes from the constable, who with a genteel tip of his helmet, left the room, as though he were another butler that had only recently come under the employ of Colonel James Warburton and his wife.

"This information would confirm any theories," said Holmes, carefully opening the envelopes and reading the messages one by one in silence. He nodded, muttered and tutted to himself as he read, with an odd "Hum...." here, and a "Yes, yes indeed..." here.

"Inspector Hopkins, I advise you to arrest Mr. Edgar Harper immediately," instructed Sherlock Holmes.

Before anyone could say anything otherwise, Inspector Hopkins and his constables were up in a flash, and had placed handcuffs on Mr Edgar Harper.


	10. Holmes explains the case

"What the devil is the meaning of this?!" cried Edgar Harper angrily and impatiently, the calm facade of a butler quickly melting away from his face.

"Edgar Harper, I am arresting you in the name of Her Majesty the Queen on the charge of the poisoning and manslaughter of Colonel James Warburton," recited Hopkins "You do not have to say anything, but it may be written down and used against you when your charges are brought up later in a police court."

"Mr. Holmes, whatever is the meaning of this?" asked Elizabeth Warburton.

"Quite simple, Mrs. Warburton. I have sent more than one message today, Watson. What I told you earlier in our return to this house was, in actual fact, a bold-faced lie."

"A lie, Holmes?"

"Indeed. For as I sat in the carriage ride home, I sat and thought about the matter of the poison used against the colonel being hidden in the food. And I wondered to myself:  _who would have the direct opportunity to poison the colonel?_ " explained Sherlock Holmes "And I deduced it from the evidence presented to me, as is standard for any good reasoner.

"Only the colonel himself was poisoned, and anything going into the colonel's food at the time of it being cooked in a roasting tray or a saucepan would destroy the paper which is imbibed with the poison, or the poison would spread throughout the food and also poison Elizabeth Warburton, as well as any others who would come near it."

"I wouldn't add anything like poison into the food anyway!" protested Ms Carey with her hands on her round hips "It would not only ruin the taste, but God knows what it would do to those who would be unfortunate enough to eat it!"

"And so therefore, it would have to be a butler or a maid. I then reasoned further, and asked who would have the best opportunity to do so, amongst all servants and staff at the disposal of the colonel and his wife. That would be the Chief Butler, Mr. Edgar Harper of dubious background. So when at the post office, I despatched a number of telegrams to the police commissioner himself, of whom I am first-name terms with, the MP for Coventry South, and the High Court judge, whom I was fortunate enough to meet in the post office.

"All of whom were asked about one Mr Edgar Harper, and any further background details which they may have been able to disclose about him to me. Every one of them - every single one of them - were unable to confirm that they had ever had anybody by the name of Edgar Harper under their employ."

"Dear me!" gasped Mrs Warburton, who looked ready to faint from the shock of such a revelation "Then who on Earth are  _you_ then?!" she protested, jabbing a fat finger in the direction of the butler of dubious repute, who was now staring at his feet, concealing our view of his face.

"That is the next point I was about to come to. I contacted a source of mine,  **E** , who shall remain anonymous for his protection, Inspector Hopkins, who has been of service to me in the past when I have needed to purchase morphine or cocaine."

"You mean you contacted a distributor of drugs and poisons? Dear me, Holmes!" I said, appalled. Holmes chuckled in-response.

"Do not worry, doctor. I have already given him strict instruction not to issue me with any of my black habit any further. Instead, I asked him about this new drug which is saturated into small pieces of paper and taken orally.  **E** informed me that he had been distributing such a narcotic. And he has, in-turn, responded with a list of distributors. Allow me to read it aloud to you:"

> **POST OFFICE TELEGRAM  
>  ** 13 Sutton Street, Silvertown
> 
> Know of drug and have sold it previously.
> 
> Sold to: S. Ibrahimov, J. Smith, E. Hopkins, A. Doyle, J. Bell, T. Decargo in recent months. No others.
> 
> Hope you are keeping well.
> 
> [signed] **E**.

"I also made use of brother Mycroft's position with British intelligence and Scotland Yard to ask for information on currently wanted foreign spies. And he, too, provided me with a list. The name Sacha Ibrahimov, the Prussian-born spy, was in the list. And I do not think it to be any form of coincidence for there to be two S. Ibrahimovs on both the government's wanted persons list and the recent sales list of a drug seller."

The butler laughed quietly for a few moments.

"Yes, it is true..." he said, his voice now changed from a clear British accent to a thicker Russian accent. "I was tasked by Prussian Intelligence Services to retrieve information on latest British submarines, after Oberstein failed to retrieve them."

"I remember reading about the Oberstein case. Another one of yours, Mr. Holmes?"

"Indeed."

"I used the name Edgar Harper to go undercover as a butler at the household of Colonel Warburton, who had significant recent role in the plans. I drugged him multiple times through his dinner, his tea, whenever there was a clear opportunity to poison him. That night, I had done my usual, poisoned the Colonel, and slipped off in-hope that he would shout the house down with the information.

"As I polished the silverware, I heard him shouting about the bear in his bedroom, before I heard a loud crashing sound. And next thing I knew, the colonel was sprawled out on the ground out there." He gestured his sullen head in the direction of the outside window, where a number of constables could be seen guarding the scene of the colonel's unfortunate death.

"Indeed, the death was accidental. But the drug which caused it was issued in malice. It was, ergo, both manslaughter and treason. You may wish to make more arrangements for his detainment, which is now a matter in the hands of the British government and the British secret services," said Sherlock Holmes, handing over his evidence to Stanley Hopkins.

* * *

Indeed, the apparent madness of the late Colonel James Warburton ended on such a tragic note, running on a deeper and much more sinister vein than we had initially thought.

Ibrahimov was detained by the British government, awaiting trial for treason against the British government and the charges of manslaughter brought upon him by Scotland Yard. Unfortunately, it was a trial the defendant would never live to see.

"I am sad to inform you," said the portly Mycroft Holmes, taking a chair in 221B Baker Street, "that Ibrahimov is dead, Sherlock."

Holmes did not react, although I was wide-eyed. "Dead?"

"Yes. He was discovered with his throat cut this morning in his cell at the gaol. Assassinated, presumably by the Prussian government."

"Dear me!" I cried, as Sherlock Holmes sat with the pipe in his mouth.

"It seems then," said Sherlock "that the secrets lying further behind such a tragic accident will have to remain lost."

"Indeed so, it seems," said Mycroft, his face beetroot red through a mixture of disappointment and infuriation. "Unfortunately, it seems that there will be nothing more to be done in the matter."

"Agreed, brother," said Sherlock, tenting his fingers, "indeed."

 


End file.
